Until You Crack
by Moonchild10
Summary: Gorillaz have been disbanded for four years, but 2D has come to find that sometimes, the ghosts of the past need to be revisited if you are ever to find the future... with the one you've loved all along.
1. Only the Memory

**Disclaimer: I own the plot, but 2D, Murdoc, Noodle, and Russel are not my property. **

**This is my first lengthy Gorillaz story, so it'll be my first with recurring themes and symbolism. It's very much a work in progress, so feel free to give me all the constructive criticism (and flames) that you wish. **

**The next chapter will probably end up being longer (and no, this is not a fancharacter story. The fangirl is just a plot device). **

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"2D? Is that you?" an excited voice asked. Turning around at the mention of his nickname, Stuart found himself face to face with a short blonde teenager, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. She couldn't have been more than fourteen, and only reached up to the middle of his ribcage, an excited, sunny ball of fanatic energy. He beamed down at her and nodded.

"Yep," he said happily. The girl looked as though she would burst with excitement, and it brought him back fondly to times in his teenage years when he had met his favorite band backstage. Simply being in their presence had made him feel like a higher being, like he had a more meaningful reason for existence, and for that one moment, he had felt that much closer to the top, to that glittering rainbow called fame that constantly eluded his grasp, inches from his outstretched fingertips. He got a rush of that feeling back now in a wave of nostalgia as he regarded the fan hovering somewhere below. He gave her a smile as the train slowed to a halt at his stop.

"Can I have your autograph?" she asked hopefully, producing a scrap of paper and a pen from her shoulder bag, her hands trembling with electric exhilaration as she held them out to the blue-haired singer . Grinning, Stuart took them from her and removed the pen's cap.

"Well 'course you can!" he said jovially, beginning to scratch his usual signature onto the paper. "An' who should I make this out to?"

"Cindy," the girl squeaked, shuffling her feet nervously. "I just love your music. It's like listening to your soul through headphones."

"well 'fanks," Stuart couldn't help but enjoy compliments, no matter how many times they came. Over the years, he saw others become immune to respects about their music, as though they were old news and didn't count anymore, paling in comparison to favorable press reviews. That electric enthusiasm never failed to fill him, though, and it was better than candy and drugs every time. "I'm glad you feel somefin' strong abou' it."

A bit of the girl's shyness drained away and she gave him a more confident smile. "Your new album is amazing. I really loved your work with Gorillaz, too!"

Stuart's hand froze on the paper at the mention of his former band for a moment, and then he finished penning an encouraging message with a shaky hand and handed Cindy the paper with another smile, his body feeling as though it had gone through a series of electric shocks. "Here you go, luv. Well, this is my stop so I should be gettin' off. It was nice meeting you!" with a small wave, he grabbed his bag and wound his way toward the door of the train, still shaking considerably, the flickering electric lights of the subway accenting his trembling. Finally, outside in the tunnel, in the cold air, the stuffy feeling of the train drained away and he began to walk quickly.

_Gorillaz_

He quickened his pace. The mere mention of the word brought back far too many memories for comfort. That one word held so much meaning, more than any other word in his vocabulary. It meant Kong Studios, rainy Essex days without any means of escape, it meant the bitter, grueling hours spent over a keyboard hunting for just the right notes to make the music perfect… but not just perfect… Gorillaz-perfect, which was a far higher standard than normal perfection, though far more varied and open. And that word meant, more than anything else, three names. Noodle. Russel. Murdoc.

Noodle. Stuart was always in touch with Noodle, and was currently living with her and her boyfriend of several years, Toby. The three of them had formed an experimental, provisional band, which Stuart had dubbed "Cortez" as a silent tribute to the past he rarely liked to venture into. It was mostly a way to explore new styles of music, now that Gorillaz no longer acted as a vessel for their musical release. He and Noodle were a tightly-knit little partnership, often staying up late into the night sharing musical inspirations and hopes for the future. He knew that Noodle would go far, and probably even surpass the things she told him she wanted to achieve. Their present gig playing in night clubs had not become anything more yet, though since the breakup of Gorillaz, Noodle had been bombarded with offers from record companies left and right. She would just smile in her wise way and say "I will do something for my career when the time is right" and leave it at that. She had always been that way, mysterious without being eerie, wise despite how young she was. She had recently turned nineteen, and spoke with more insight than most adults that he had met. At her age Stuart would have leaped at every record contract offer he was and signed his life away immediately. The prospect of a solo career did not phase Noodle at all, and she approached the subject coolly, telling everyone that she would know when it was time to act upon the offers. People seemed perplexed as to why she didn't do _something _professional with her music.

"We have all gone our separate ways. There will never be another Gorillaz," she often said when pounced upon by press asking why they did not choose to recreate the band. "It's a part of our past now. 2D has his own career now, and Cortez is temporary." The band was a shaky thing, but the two remained as close as ever.

Russel, though he had moved back to New York, kept in touch. He contacted them weekly, and flew in to visit on occasion. Russel had been married nearly two years now, and provided percussion for a band called Viper. Last Stuart had heard, they were being looked at for a contract by a very notable record company. He often spent evenings musing about everything from politics to bigfoot on the phone with Stuart. They talked more now than they ever had when they resided at Kong, and, despite his distance from them, he remained as much a part of the group as ever.

And then there was Murdoc.

Murdoc didn't live far away. Distance wasn't a factor at all. He had moved back to Stoke immediately after Gorillaz disbanded. None of them had heard a word out of the bitter Satanist since the fateful night when everything fell apart. Stuart liked to entertain himself with the thought that Murdoc had been enjoying himself with a pottery wheel for all these years, but he had guessed that it was certainly not the case. The distance of years between the other three and Murdoc hurt Stuart, but what hurt him far more was Murdoc's silence. His cold, bitter silence. He had always been hurt by Murdoc's silence, even when the four lived together. The way those cold, mismatched eyes bored into him wordlessly, refusing to answer his pleas for some sign of companionship that the bassist had always denied him. He knew they were mates; that much was always clear to both of them. But toward the end, their friendship had grown cold and bitter just like Murdoc, and Stuart blamed himself for the end of Gorillaz by desperately seeking the reason.

Wrapping the thin jacket a little tighter around his lanky body against the wet gale that pushed on his back, he pressed onward, looking forward to a cup of tea when he reached the flat. It was a long walk, but normally he didn't mind it. Today was different. The evening was cold even for November, and the force of the wind was not what he had expected. It had been considerably more pleasant when he'd first left the recording studio and boarded the subway. He wished bitterly that he'd brought an umbrella, hunching down against the wind and walking quickly, hoping to reach home before he got completely soaked. Turning left quickly onto the less-traveled, knobby dirty road that would take him home quicker, he quickened his pace, feet skittering across the rapidly muddying ground. Mud began to mix with dead leaves, turning everything into a doughy, soggy mess beneath his feet.

He had been so caught up in paying attention to where he put his feet that he had not paid attention to his surroundings until now, and he happened to look up at that moment, realizing that he had turned off of the path and was heading up off of it through the mud that was not marred by stray tire tracks. He looked up just in time to avoid running into a wrought-iron gate. Wiping his forehead free of rain and cold sweat, he looked up. The gate was massive, set between two large stone pillars, the dark iron bars bent and misshapen, pointed tips reaching toward the sky like grisly claws. That gate held him back from what was within, blocking him with a iron force that was too much to overcome.

Welded onto the front of the gate with strips of metal was a single word, one that opened floodgates of memories and left Stuart's knees shaking. KONG.

Stuart slumped against the gate, wrapping his thin, cold hands around the bars and staring through the gaps between into the muddy, barren graveyard within. It stretched as far as he could see, horizon dotted with the gravestones, ranging from ornate to uniform. A few hundred yards away, the flat landscape was broken by a hill, the dismal Kong Studios perched on top like some sort of hallowed, dilapidated sanctuary. Even in the distance, he could see that the building was worse for wear, having been abandoned for the past four years; no one but the ambitious band called Gorillaz that had once inhabited it was willing to reside in its zombie-infested depths.

He had been trying to avoid this place for four years.

It looked just as it had that night. As he stood there, the cold and the wind, the wet and the discomfort melted away. He was left with only the memory, barely conscious of the world around him, surrendering to the thoughts of times passed. There was no more rain, no more mud, no more world. There was only the memory…


	2. Sod Off

**Disclaimer: I don't own Gorillaz. Still.**

**Finally, chapter 2. Sorry it took so long. Things have been crazy. But I'll spare you all my rant XD enjoy. The next chapter will probably not be this long.**

**This chapter is mostly flashback, just so you know and don't get confused.**

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…It was a cold night, and the rain battered the windows of Kong with a force that made 2D shudder and snuggle deeper inside his sweatshirt. The soft, relaxing melody of Noodle's guitar calmed his nerves as she sat beside him on the sofa, strumming the strings gently in an endless, random pattern. 2D's keyboard was perched on his lap, and every now and then he would strike a few chords that might help unclog the constipation of the lyrics resting just on the edge of his brain. Russel sat on Noodle's other side, quiet, leafing through a newspaper and occasionally muttering to the other two something about Britain's current events. Murdoc had been ominously silent all day. 2D was beginning to worry. Murdoc hadn't been himself these past few months, and it concerned him. 2D had watched his friend become colder and more distant with no visible explanation, seemingly for no reason. But he knew better than that. Though Murdoc's behavior was shocking and almost always erratic, he never did anything without a reason. The reason was always nearly impossible to find, but it was always there.

"Murdoc-san has been quiet today," Noodle said matter-of-factly, looking up through the fringe of her bangs and toward the clock. It was nearly ten o'clock in the evening, and the most they'd seen of Murdoc that day when he came out for a bowl of cereal and an unintelligible grunt that morning. Murdoc would normally have caused some kind of chaos by now.

"Yeah, he hasn't made a racket so far," Russel said, sounding as though he hadn't even realized it until now. "Wonder what he's up to."

A cold stone slid into 2D's throat as he thought of the possibilities. He could be doing any number of things, most of them bound to be unpleasant. Most of them probably self-destructive. It seemed to be Murdoc's goal in life to make things as unpleasant for himself (and for everyone around him) as possible, and lately he had been taking this to quite an ungodly level. Just last week he had dangled 2D over the edge of the balcony by his legs, leaving him quite frightened of what the bassist would do next. It had taken him several days to stop jumping every time Murdoc entered the room, and he was still on edge. But he knew something had to be done, and he knew that neither of the others were going to do it. Neither of them knew Murdoc like he did, and though he knew that he would most likely cause some sort of problem with the Satanist, he also knew that he was the only one even remotely understood what went on in his warped brain.

"I'll go check on him," 2D volunteered, setting his keyboard to the side and standing. Noodle and Russel simultaneously shot him the kind of look you gave some one who had just volunteered to take a seat in the electric chair.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, D?" Russel asked cautiously, placing his newspaper on his lap and looking up at his blue-haired bandmate with a mixture of concern and doubt. "After what happened last time? And the time before that?… and every other time?"

2D gave a loose shrug, looking down at his sneakers (the laces were untied again). "Maybe not, but 'm gonna do it anyway." It was something that had to be done, whether he liked it or not. Because whatever was going on with Murdoc, we was probably unhappy, to that bleak, broken state that took him more alcohol that 2D had ever seen consumed in his life to get him out of. And he had to be the one to help, as always, because he was Murdoc's best mate. And because, although Murdoc never admitted it, 2D knew that the bassist needed him. He had made this clear unintentionally countless times during rough patches in the road, and now 2D couldn't help but feel obligated to help his friend whenever the need arose, even if his attempts were met only by screaming and beatings.

He could feel Noodle's small hand clench around his arm as he turned to go. "Do not let him hurt you," she told him, eyes telling him that she understood what he needed to do. She understood far more than anyone older could have, because she had had those infrequent glimpses into Murdoc's dark world as well.

"I'll try," he said with a nod, exiting the living room and making his way down the corridor toward the Carpark, picking his way around trash that had been left on the floor (Kong never was the cleanest place to live). The corridor was dark and dank, lights flickering on and off and generally giving the singer the creeps. He hated venturing into Murdoc's lair, because it seemed the closer he got, the more unpleasant everything became. Ignoring the familiar bloodstains on the walls, he found the appropriate door and slipped inside, shivering in the Carpark's chilly confines.

Loud, grating music blared from the Winnebago, increasing in volume as he walked closer to the decrepit vehicle. He shoved his finger into one ear to block it out a bit as he approached Murdoc's quarters using his other hand to bang on the door as hard as he could. "Oi, Murdoc!" he yelled over the aggravating beat, pounding a few more times. "Openup!" He had to slam his fist against the door several more times before there was a scraping sound from within the Winnebago, and he was greeted by the sight of the Satanist standing shirtless in the doorway with a bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His aged jeans were spotted with stains from God knows what, and he looked trashy even by 2D's standards.

"Wadaya want?" the bassist slurred, leaning heavily on the doorframe and peering at 2D through his mismatched, bloodshot eyes. "'m kinda busy at the moment."

"Just came to check on you…" 2D began, prompting Murdoc to lean closer, struggling to hear him over the blaring music.

"What!?"

"I said I-"

"WHAT!?"

2D positioned himself three inches from his friend's face, and said as loudly as he could without screaming: "I CAME TO CHECK ON YOU!"

Murdoc gave a hazy nod and gave a sloppy gesture toward himself with his left hand, causing a clump of ash to fall from his cigarette and into 2D's hair. "Well, as ye' can see, 'm fine…" he took a long drag. "So sod off, will ye'?"

2D blinked up at him.

"Well what are ye' waiting for, fucking Christmas?" Murdoc asked, fixing his vocalist with a cold, lopsided glare.

"I jus' though' that maybe we could talk." he tried again, attempting to appeal to the side of Murdoc that felt the need to pour out his feelings like a normal human being. "You've been kinda… off lately."

"Look, I appreciate your concern, but what part of get the fuck out of my face don't yeh' understand?" Murdoc was a mess, and 2D could smell the stink of alcohol and other nameless, unpleasant substances on his breath. The indifference in Murdoc's tone lodged itself painfully in 2D's chest like a dagger driven in too deep.

"Murdoc, please just-"

"_FUCK_ OFF, alright, dullard? 'm not in the mood to deal with your melodramatic shit. Stop being so goddamned overprotective and sod off so I can get some sleep. Your voice sounds like a fork on a blackboard and you're making my head split." Murdoc stepped back out of the doorway and started to close the door, but 2D grabbed the door and wrenched it back open, staring the grungy Satanist squarely in the face. Murdoc looked nothing if not surprised, and backed up a bit, watching the singer with wary eyes.

"'m tired of you tellin' me to sod off every time I come near you! I jus' wan' talk to you, so stop telling me to fuck off! It hurts my feelings!"

The surprise had drained away from Murdoc's face, taking every other shred of expression with it, and he stepped back, opening the door to let his vocalist inside. Stepping up to scramble into the Winne, 2D did his best to avoid looking Murdoc in the eye. The door slammed behind him and Murdoc turned slowly to face him, leaning against the wall and discarding the items in his hands so he could cross his arms comfortably. 2D became aware of deep bags under the bassist's eyes, signs of sleeplessness, depression, and recently shed tears. The rest of the world failed to notice, but 2D was very aware of that fact that for quite some time now, Murdoc had been falling apart at the seams. He was far too stubborn he let 2D put him back together, and the most he would allow were these awkward, uncomfortable talks which seemed to help put him somewhat at ease, making 2D think that maybe things were getting better, before they fell apart again and he saw that things would never be better. Murdoc was Murdoc. Impossible to change. Impossible to deal with. Impossible to hate and impossible to love.

"Well?" Murdoc asked impatiently, drumming his fingers against the cupboard he leaned on. 2D realized how long he had been silent. "You said you wanted to talk. So talk. You've got five minutes. What is it this time?"

Murdoc's arrogance and impassiveness were starting to irritate him, and he attempted to keep calm. "Well I-… we're worried about you."

Murdoc snorted, though he carefully avoided 2D's eyes. He could sense the discomfort coming off of the harsh bassist, as though he was silently asking _'Please don't care about me.' _For Murdoc, it was obvious that having people care about him was more of a burden than a comfort. It was just more people to worry about not letting down. "Why the hell would ye' worry abou' me? I'm forty-one years old, and I haven't died yet. Why the hell would you start worrying now?" there was an emptiness in those mismatched eyes that Murdoc wasn't trying nearly as hard as usual to conceal.

"I've always worried abou' you," 2D told him softly, looking Murdoc straight in the eye and refusing to look away. "We all worry."

"Well don't. Jes'… jes' don't. It's a bloody waste of yer' time is what it is. And it doesn't do ye' any good to worry. Whatever happens to me will happen whether ye' worry or not. It's not like you're making any damn difference."

2D sometimes wondered if Murdoc was just programmed to be unpleasant. "Murdoc-"

"_What?_ Stop whining if you're going to talk me you. You're making me sick." there was stubble on the older man's face that 2D couldn't recall seeing in the past. Something was wrong here. Something was very, very wrong. It was so obvious that 2D swore he could feel it in the air all around them. Murdoc's eyes burned into him, challenging him like they always did, but somehow, the feeling wasn't the same.

In all his years of knowing Murdoc, the two had developed an often violent but always unbreakable bond. He had come to know him better than anyone else, and it had always felt that way. He had gotten used to the feeling, as strange as it always seemed. But now, the feeling was choking, like a locked gate in between them. This feeling of distance had started to grow shortly after the band had come back together after a second breakup, which had been caused by Noodle's sudden desire to take a break from the pressures of being a rock star. She had disappeared immediately after the El Manana video shoot, leaving the others with no choice but to take a vacation as well. When the four had all arrived simultaneously back at the increasingly crumbling Kong, things seemed to go back to normal, except for things between he and Murdoc. Though the physical distance between them had vanished, it was the emotional distance that was bothering him now.

"Something is wrong," he said finally, shakily, killing the silence that hung there thick as smoke.

"Oh really?" Murdoc asked, leaning against the cupboard heavily and picking his cigarette up again and taking a deep drag. "And where exactly would you get an idea like that?" Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, or maybe it was something deeper, but whatever the reason, 2D could have sworn he could hear a shakiness in Murdoc's voice that was unfamiliar.

"You're different," 2D was cautious, moving closer to where the bassist stood so he could look him in the eye properly. Murdoc froze, the impassive mask leaking away from his features and leaving one of extreme discomfort for a moment before he managed to regain his composure. 2D was close enough now to feel the uneasiness his friend was giving off, and he could see his entire body stiffen as he neared him. He raised an eyebrow, giving the man a bemused look. "Ever since we got back, you've been… different. Muds? Wut's going on?"

The older man stared into the blank sockets where 2D's eyes weren't visible for a moment in silence, and 2D could physically feel in the air the sense of Murdoc's resolve leaking away. Slowly. And then… a tiny whisper issued from Murdoc's mouth. Soft, uncharacteristic, and inaudible. 2D leaned a bit closer, staring straight into those uneven eyes. "Wot?" he asked Murdoc softly, placing a careful, shaky hand on his shoulder. 2D had always wanted the two of them to be closer emotionally, for Murdoc to actually tell him things, talk to him about something other than music or sex. "I'll listen, I swear. Whatever it is, I'll listen and I'll help." he knew somewhere inside that it was foolish to set himself up for disappointment this way, but he could right now that Murdoc needed him. And there was no way he was going to bail out on his best mate. Not when he was this vulnerable and hollow-looking. He rubbed the bassist's shoulder gently, trying to coax an answer out into the open. "Wot did you say?"

"I said get the fuck out of my Winnebago before I _throw_ you out, you insufferable little shit stabber!" Murdoc bellowed finally, scaring 2D shitless and sending him stumbling backward. An unfamiliar feeling surged through the singer's veins. He was so sick and tired of Murdoc's insults, of Murdoc's beatings, of just generally being made to feel worthless and stupid when he knew that he wasn't, when they _both _knew he wasn't. Even when he tried to be there for him, Murdoc took it for granted and usually smashed his face in. Murdoc had had the upper hand for nine long years, since the very day their worlds had come crashing together. And it had all been enough. With that last sentence, 2D had finally had it up to his eyebrows. Without even thinking, his body moving and his mind sitting still, 2D swung his fist forward. And when it was over a few seconds later, Murdoc was sitting up on the floor, a shocked expression and a bleeding nose decorating his shadowed face.

2D leaped backward, his body shaking with resentment and fear all at once. Murdoc was on his feet and coming at him, but he couldn't stop. He'd had enough. After all these years, it was finally enough, and the words that had formed and curdled in his mind a thousand times over came pouring from his mouth like water gushing from one of the broken pipes in Kong's basement.

"I hate you, you goddamned bastard! I'm so sick of your talk and your fists and your stupid face! I can't stand looking at you anymore, and I'm not going to take any of your shit _ever again_!" there was a certain strange and forbidden joy at letting the fury-charged words blast into the open with the force of warheads, and they kept coming. "You think you're the one who makes the band, but you only have fans because you're a huge _fucking_ joke! We need Noodle because she keeps us all together and makes the songs more complete. We need Russel because he has the best percussion abilities in the world, probably. And you need me because no one else can stand writing songs with you. But all you do is curse and yell and pull us all apart every time things seem to be getting better again, and I'm sick of it! I'm sick of you! And I can't _stand _you!"

Murdoc's face was contorted in fury, much like 2D's own, he was sure. Murdoc kept coming at him, and 2D just kept backing up, running into things, knocking over Murdoc's possessions, breaking things he was sure. But nothing could take those words back, and some buried, wicked part of 2D wanted to say them over and over again until his throat bled from screaming. He'd heard that everyone had a breaking point, and he was sure that tonight he had reached his own. From the look on Murdoc's face, it seemed that he had reached his, too. 2D backed up until there was nowhere left to go. He had edged his way into the front of the Winne, and his back hit the dashboard. Murdoc was storming toward him, and 2D flattened himself against the dash to make as much room between them as possible.

"You think _I'm_ the one who's a joke?" Murdoc asked him, eyes narrow. He grabbed 2D by the front of his shirt and yanked him toward him. Their faces were centimeters apart. "You're the one who prances around like a fucking faggot all the time. The only reason you're even in _my_ band is because you're a pretty little _queer_ that the ladies can squeal over. If I had my way now, I'd have _anyone_ singing for me besides you. I'd hire fucking _James Blunt_ before you."

"At least my voice is unique," 2D pointed out, looking the older man straight in the eye. "I hate to break it to you, _Murdoc_, but _anyone_ can play the bass line to Feel Good Inc. I've heard _fans_ who play it better than you. And all bass _sounds the same_."

"Shut your goddamned mouth, you little prick, or I swear I-"

2D chuckled softly, despite the potentially deadly situation. He wasn't really control of what his mind thought up anymore. "You try to act so tough. You're just trying to make yourself feel better. You're trying to boost your self-esteem because you know that your mother abandoned you on a fucking doorstep because even _she_ couldn't stand you."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, 2D was sorry, and a hollow feeling rushed into his stomach as he wished he hadn't said it. Murdoc was quiet and still all of a sudden, and the hand that held 2D's shirt in its crumpled fist was shaking. "Oh God. Murdoc, I'm so sorry…" 2D could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He reached out a hand and placed it on Murdoc's rough cheek, his long fingers stroking the greenish skin gently as he watched Murdoc's lips tremble. "Murdoc?"

Murdoc's movement was sudden. He reeled back his free arm and punched 2D square in the middle of the face, harder than 2D could recall him ever hitting him before. His lip split deeply as it hit his remaining teeth, and blood poured down onto his shirt and into his mouth, filling the space between his bottom teeth and his rapidly swelling lower lip. Murdoc dropped 2D, and he slumped onto the dash, Murdoc lifting his foot and kicking the singer in the ribs. Then he grabbed him by the arms and began dragging him across the floor of the Winnebago. 2D, still a bit stunned, allowed himself to be heaved across the floor like a sack of wet cement. When they reached the Winnebago door, Murdoc lifted 2D to his feet so he could look him in the eye. Murdoc's eyes were filled with a mixture between sadness and venom as he stared 2D down.

"I never want to see your fucking face again as long as I live," he whispered, voice thick with bitterness. And then he shoved the door open, throwing 2D out into the carpark. He hit the pavement on his back, hard. He sat up and rubbed his spine gingerly as Murdoc slammed the door. It took a few minutes for him to stand up, and when he did, he moved cautiously toward the door, rapping it with his knuckles gently.

"Murdoc?"

"Sod off."

"Murdoc…"

"Get the hell away from my Winnebago you stupid git!"

"Muds… I really am sorry. I don't know why I said that I… I didn't mean it, I promise. I'm so sorry…"

"Get out of my carpark or I swear to sweet Satan I will run you over and reduce you to a smear on the cement. GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

Shaking softly, stomach bubbling with guilt, 2D decided it would probably be best to listen to him. "I'm sorry," he whispered toward the door before turning and heading out of the carpark and toward his own bedroom, wishing there were some way to take those words back.

He never saw Murdoc again.

"Stuart… 2D…excuse me…" Stuart blinked, shaking away the wetness that clung to the edges of his eyes as he pulled himself out of the memory, hands cold and white still wrapped around the wrought iron gate's bars. He turned his head, and saw a Japanese teenager standing beside him. She had a hand on his shoulder and was wearing a bright pink raincoat that stood out vividly against the backdrop of gray sky and desolate, muddy road, matching the streaks of pink that decorated the front of her hair. "Are you alright?"

Stuart shook his soaked bangs out of his dark eye sockets and nodded slowly, letting go of the bars and stepping back as reality reconsumed him. "Yes, I'm alright, Noodle. How did you find me?"

Noodle lifted her umbrella up over his head, and he smiled gratefully. "I just thought you might be here. I was worried you would catch a cold, so I drove out to find you." she gestured to the car parked several yards away.

"Oh… um… fanks, Noodle," Stuart said, smiling, as Noodle put a motherly arm around his shoulders and led him toward the car through the cold mud. She merely nodded in reply.

"Now let's go home."


End file.
